


Tell Me I'm a Wreck

by conquerlove (fullbrightness)



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: Car Accidents, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullbrightness/pseuds/conquerlove
Summary: Something happens to Trent, and so Daria and Jane step in. But..what if it proves to do more damage than good?
Relationships: Jane Lane/Daria Morgendorffer, Jane Lane/Trent Lane, Trent Lane/Daria Morgendorffer
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	1. Phone Call

The phone call at two AM was anything but pleasant. I had fallen asleep after trying to write a new article for the magazine I work for; the topic, Heating Up or Cooling Down, was about relationships of all things. They'd wanted to give me a challenge, and so far all I'd managed to type out was the first boyfriend I ever had, Tom, and our experience. Nixing the part about him being the boyfriend of my best friend, Jane, first. 

It was Jane who called, more frantic than I'd ever heard her. She was stumbling over her words and not making sense, and I briefly wondered if she'd been drinking (not that I asked). I sat up at my desk, already pulling on my boots to go visit and calm her down.

"Trent. Hospital. He-He got in an ac-accident. We have to go, we have to-to-see him." 

I almost dropped the phone when I froze, letting the words sink in. Trent? God, this was more serious than I'd expected. "I'll be right there, don't go anywhere." 

Unlike me, Jane tended to show more emotions, expressions. She could get upset and stressed, hurt, but never said any of it. She buried it down and avoid conflict if she could, especially with me, whereas I only really got pissed off. I couldn't imagine how she was right now, hearing her favorite person other than me-the only real family who'd stayed with her in high school-was in a sickly building of bright lights and the smell of bleach.

I didn't bother changing, I'd fallen asleep in my clothes, but I did give my hair a quick detangling as I headed out the door. My place was modest, just an apartment with some fake plants (thanks, Mom) and paintings of Jane's I'd bought to help support her. I looked up at my window and breathed in and out to try and relax, puffs of smoke escaping into the chilly air. 

Time to go see how my first crush was doing.


	2. Waiting

I arrived at the hospital, and Jane immediately ran to hug me, much like I had done when she came to Mom's Diner that awful day. The worst day I have ever had, even five years later. I reach up to pat-or rub?-her back, but before I can she's back pacing. I wearily sit in a chair, waiting for her to tell me what's happened and how Trent is. "They keep freaking telling me they'll let me know when they find out more about his _condition,_ and it's been almost half an hour."

An hour. Either she'd called me late or I'd taken my time getting here; not purposefully, obviously, just because of stupid New York traffic. "Why did you wait to call, who else did you try?"

"I thought our family might want to come see him and worry with us, but they can't even bother to show for good shit, much less bad." I immediately know she means our graduation; both from college and high school, Trent was the only Lane to attend. I went and sat with him for the college one, since thankfully mine didn't fall on the same day. 

"Why the hell hasn't anyone freaking come out yet and updated us?" She's looking close to tearing out her hair, and I get up, going to move her wrists together and holding them somewhat tightly. 

"We have to wait and see, it's not like they're just not telling us. Doctors are paid to fix people and find things to charge us for, they don't care about delivering bad news. Come sit, I'll get us something from the vending machines." The cafeteria wasn't an option, everything was runny or bland. Maybe I could find a machine with sandwiches.

Looking at me with wide blue eyes, she nods once and wiggles her wrists, quietly asking to be let go. I do, and Jane collapses in a plush armchair. "Isn't it ironic how they spring for comfortable, expensive furniture and then charge you for things you didn't know were wrong with you?" 

"It's like, 'hey enjoy the chairs now you won't be able to afford them when you go'." 

"The bastards. Next thing you know they'll have us bring our own food, although that might be an upgrade."

"Oh yeah, cereal and pizza pockets, a balanced diet."

Her attempt at joking around with me like normal was a little encouraging, and I put a hand on her shoulder as I walked by to find food. "Be back in five."

* * *

_**JANE.** _   
  


You'd think I was used to my family not showing up, but it still bothered me, as much as I hid that. When Trent had said he didn't want me to leave for college because he'd be by himself, I'd understood better than he knew, because it was something I'd considered. I'd be leaving him, just like everyone else had, and then he'd be the only Lane left occupying our childhood home in the boring town of Lawndale. Sure, Mom and Dad still technically lived there, but they were never around. It had its perks, being able to do whatever we wanted, stay out or sleep in with no one to tell us otherwise; there were downsides too though, and this was the worst so far. 

  
  
I'd left three messages on Wind's phone, and neither of my sisters even had a voicemail set up. Mom and Dad's phones said not in service. Since leaving our town, I didn't exactly keep in touch with any of them, it was still Trent and I sticking with one another. We video chatted every other day, he sent me postcards of wherever he was traveling for gigs (he'd gone solo my sophomore year of college and so far was doing pretty okay), and sent souvenirs sometimes. Shot glasses, sunglasses, artifact replica keychains. I kept them all in a plastic display case in my room, and all the postcards in a shoebox I decorated, painted with tiger stripes and swatch red lipstick smudges. 

Wind had came to New York to visit a couple times, to stay over and cry about his love life, and I'd had to coax him back out. I wouldn't say he was the closest to me after Trent, nobody else even came close (as far as the family anyway), but he was the most reliable to pull through for something like this. If only he'd call back or send a text, something, instead of me sitting in this goddamn waiting room waiting to hear about our brother.

My foot anxiously shaked with my leg, and my arms crossed, head tilting back to look at the ceiling. I wondered if they'd hire me to paint it, a Sistine Chapel kind of deal, only in my own taste. It'd certainly brighten up the stark white room, and take the attention off the ugly burnt orange color of the chairs. How many other people had sat where I was? Had their loved ones made it back out, or did the doc shatter their lives, which potentially could happen to me soon?


	3. Charger

_**JANE.** _

I think the carpet has my boot tracks permanently dug in from how much I've been pacing. I tried to eat, but even the pizza Daria had delivered-don't even ask me how she managed that-didn't lift my spirits much. Finally found something it couldn't fix, I guess.  
  


I wish I knew what the hell happened. Was there a drunk driver, someone on their fucking phone? Did he swerve to avoid someone walking? Were they jaywalking, goofing off? Maybe they were dared to go in front of him, or he just didn't see them. The weather could have been a factor, or maybe-  
  


"Hey, stop that."   
  


Daria's looking at me in _that way_ again. The furrowed brows and scowl on her face, nose scrunched. I snap out of my thoughts, looking innocent and almost confused, "Stop what?"  
  


She knows me too well, sees past my bull.   
  


"Overthinking. Don't think about what ifs, or possibilities, they'll just make things worse. He'll tell you when they let you see him."  
  


I know that, but it's taking too long. I've checked my phone every two minutes, and my battery is on fifteen percent. Of course, me without a charger, only in a crucial moment like this.  
  


"I need a charger, have yours on you?"  
  


Daria pulls out the pockets of her jacket; all that escapes are a few dust bunnies, which is weird considering she always wears the same jacket.   
  


"Dammit. Okay, um can you head to my place and grab it?"  
  


When she doesn't immediately agree I repeat myself, figuring she didn't hear. "Daria, charger, my place?"  
  


"I think you should go, get out of here for a little while. I'll have someone call if there's a change."  
  


"Daria, that's kind of the whole point."  
  
  
She's really out of it, I'm a little surprised.  
  


"Right, sorry. I'll go grab it."  
  
  
"On second thought, forget it, I'll ask Bart."  
  
  
Quickly I turn down my brightness in a last ditch effort to save battery, just enough to shoot my boyfriend a text. I hadn't wanted to tell him about being here, I knew he had a big job today, photographing a wedding. I'm desperate though.  
  
  
"Bart? I know you're working, but I need a favor.."


	4. Enter: Bart

I'm not the biggest fan of Bart, truthfully, but when have I ever liked Jane's taste in guys? She tends to go for ones that are really quirky, and or snobby, and Bart is no exception. He's the one who took photos at her graduation, and for the school's yearbook, and that's where she met him. They've been together for two years so far, which is a record for her, so I've tried my best to play nice with this one. He's aware of my distaste, but we both fake it for her sake.

To his credit, he arrives in pretty decent time, but not with a good attitude about it. As soon as he comes into the waiting room he starts asking a thousand questions about what happened, why she didn't call him, how worried he was when she called and just said to bring her charger to the emergency room. Jane is quick to take a seat next to an electric socket, plugging in the charger he brought; not that she'll need it most likely, the chances of her family calling back are slim, and Bart's here now so really who else is left to keep in touch with? She starts giving him the rundown, explaining she's fine, that it's Trent. It isn't til she mentions calling me that he acknowledges I'm also in the room, munching on my third slice of pizza. 

"You called Daria before me?" He sounds insulted. You'd think he would know by now how big of a staple I am in her life, Trent's too. Of course she would call me. Sure, I wasn't first, but obviously in this situation her family would be (any other I would have been however) despite the aforementioned disregard for Jane and Trent. 

Jane immediately begins to tell him how she knew he had a big job today and didn't want to bother, but he retorts, "Why the hell would you not think to call me about Trent being in a crash but you did when you needed a charger?What, Daria didn't think to bring hers?"

It takes me a minute to register what he said, but when I do, my eyes narrow, and I shoot back, "No, I was a little busy hauling ass to support my best friend and keeping her from strangling a nurse, while you took dumb snapshots a hundred other people could also take on their phone, and probably in better quality." 

He opens his mouth and starts heading over towards me until he sees the expression on Jane's face. I follow her gaze, trying to figure out if it's us that caused it, but she's looking past us at a gurney going by. On it is a person in head to toe casting, the only thing visible is their eyes, and even that small sliver of skin appears to be burnt badly. Subconsciously, I wince, and shake my head as I go to block her line of sight. "That's not him, Jane, he was in a car crash. He _wasn't_ in a house fire, and nobody mentioned the car going up in flames."

She's still staring in that direction, and Bart gently scoops her up. Luckily for her, she has her boy toy's lap to sit on now instead of the rigid seats. 

Not knowing how else to help, I grab a sketchpad and pen from the coffee table and try to jot down some thoughts about my article, figuring it's better than sitting with awful what ifs and the unknown.

* * *

_**JANE.** _

" _That's not him. He was in a car crash. Nobody mentioned the car going up in flames."_ Nobody _mentioned_ it, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen. Don't cops usually show up during times like this? They come to interview the drivers, the victims, figure out what happened and where it all went sour. Yet, I haven't seen a one. Only hospital security, and even they haven't let their posts. Bart's arms are sturdy, warm around me, but I wiggle in them. They're warmer than I'd like right now, reminding me of the burnt man, but he only holds onto me tighter. 

I pick up my phone to see if anyone's gotten back to me, but instead all I see is my phone has gone up three percent and P!nk has made a new post on Instagram. _Fuck._ What the hell could be so important at two in the morning? I know they can't all be asleep, they aren't all in Lawndale, so they have different timezones. Maybe I should contact the guys of _Mystik Spiral,_ see if they heard where he was heading or if they can tell me anything. Before I can even start up a message, my phone is gently set back down, and Bart places a kiss at my temple. "Let it charge. The sound is on, we'll know if anyone gets back to you."

I exhale slowly through my nose, closing my eyes and counting back from thirty in threes to try and calm myself. It's a trick Mom taught me for when I was feeling stressed, and it's working, until I hear, "Seriously? You're writing, right now?"

My eyes snap open, and I see Daria scribbling away on some paper, Bart shooting daggers.   
  
  
  
"I'm working, but I don't expect you to know about that, since all you do is click a button and call that a job."

My jaw clenches, and I remind myself Daria isn't exactly as stable as she normally is either, this is affecting her too. If this is her tactic to keep calm, then I can't exactly bitch at her, no matter how badly I feel the urge.  
  
  
  
"She's fine, just leave her," I say quietly, shaking my head. 

Bart looks at me with a raised eyebrow, and I just close my eyes again. I don't open them again until I hear a new voice say, "Jane Lane?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I didn't give up on this fic!!! I rewatched a few eps of Daria and got some of the inspiration back, woo hoo, so here's an update. Also, I might also be adding some new plots/elements to it, so that's a thing. What do you guys think of Bart, are you with Daria and think he's another not so great dude or is he just doing his best to support his girlfriend? Maybe you don't have an opinion yet, that's fine too, there's going to be time to come to your own conclusion! In the meantime, comment and let me know you enjoy so I continue writing! Stay safe! <3


	5. Okay?

In a matter of minutes I'm inside Trent's room. They're only allowing one at a time, and it figures that'd be the case when I wish Daria were with me more than ever. His face is swollen, bandaged up from the windshield glass cutting his _rugged mug_ (his words). The air bag also gave him a black eye, and his foot got stuck at some point so now it's in a cast. He speaks when he sees me, voice more hoarse than usual, which is unsettling. 

"Janie, hey. Be honest, how many babes can I score looking like this? Twice as many, right? Chicks love the broken wounded ones, gives them something to coddle and coo over." 

He's trying to joke with me, calm my nerves, and I could punch him if it wouldn't possibly break something else. Instead, I settle beside his bed in the slightly more comfortable chair, with a stiff upper lip. I don't like to show feelings if I can help it, and it causes me to become passive aggressive , which he knows; but the feeling he's used to seeing from me is anger and what I have right now isn't that. It's relief, and...gratitude. Like an anchor has been heaved off my chest.

"I'm fine, Jane, it's okay. I'm okay." His voice is softer, and he rests a hand on my knee so I can see it, even with my head bowed so he doesn't see I've started to cry. He knows anyway, the jackass. 

Rubbing my eyes with my wrist, I look at him, nodding. "I know, I know. Good thing you actually wore your seat belt this time, who knows how much worse it could have been." 

I don't want to think about it. I can't, or I'll really fall apart. "Daria's here, I called her." 

He smirks, and it turns into a wince quickly. "I kind of figured, she's your best friend after all. If you didn't let her know what happened I'd chalk it up to having a concussion." 

Maybe it's selfish, but I don't want to share him right now, I just want to sit with him and embrace the fact he's okay. Thrashed as hell, but okay. 


End file.
